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My best friends taught me a new kind of quiet, the peaceful stillness of knowing one another so well you don’t need to fill the space. And a new kind of loud: noise as a celebration, as the overflow of joy at being alive, here, now.
Sunlight, everywhere. Not just on my bare shoulders or the crown of my head but inside me too, the irresistible warmth that comes only from being in the exact right place with the exact right people.
I feel the moment his gaze lifts off me and returns to the windshield, but he’s left a mark: from now on, dark cliffs, wind racing through hair, cinnamon paired with clove and pine—all of it will only mean Wyn Connor to me. A door has opened, and I know I’ll never get it shut again.
Regency era or not, in a lot of ways, he ruins me.
I was more scared of marrying someone who couldn’t bring himself to leave me or to keep loving me.
It was why I hadn’t let myself cry when Wyn dumped me, or ask for answers or a second chance. I knew the only thing more painful than being without him would be being together knowing I no longer truly had him.
He’s become my best friend the way the others did: bit by bit, sand passing through an hourglass so slowly, it’s impossible to pin down the moment it happens. When suddenly more of my heart belongs to him than doesn’t, and I know I’ll never get a single grain back. He’s a golden boy. I’m a girl whose life has been drawn in shades of gray. I try not to love him. I really try.
He was never yours to keep, and deep down you knew that.
If he’s a black hole, I’ve reached his event horizon.
“Some things never change, and the best thing is to stop hoping they will.”
The feeling of being so grateful to have something worth missing.
“Is there one that looks like us?” he asks.
They all do, I think. You are in all of my happiest places. You are where my mind goes when it needs to be soothed.
“Everything keeps spinning,” he says in a low, hoarse voice. “But my mind’s always got one hand on you.”
“In every universe, it’s you for me. Even if it’s not me for you.”
Maybe, in another life, things could be different. In this one, this can be only one thing.
Like even when something beautiful breaks, the making of it still matters.
